Major PickMeUp
by PersephoneQ
Summary: Our dear Watson has a hobby: collecting the unshared secrets of one Sherlock Holmes. TWO-shot, due to amazing responses to first chappie. Hardcore Fluff. Don't like, don't read, thank you and come again.
1. Major Pick Me Up

There are numerous things not many know about Sherlock Holmes. I take a certain pride in knowing exactly what those are.

Like how he always looks outside when he thinks.

Like how he takes walks very late at night (at midnight) and comes home just as everyone else is waking up.

Like how he's always secretly liked the piano more than the violin, but could never find the time nor talent for it.

Like how he suffers from a small sweet tooth, but fears becoming, as he puts it, "Mycroft size", so he refrains.

Like how he simply refuses to eat off his own plate because, "It doesn't count if it comes off your plate, love".

Like how he, both as a child and occasionally still today, admires his brother above almost any other man.

Like how he hates to be touched, but he has no sense of personal space for others.

Like how, even though he doesn't sleep often, he hates being woken up. And often, case or not, when he does wake up, he refuses to get up, instead having people bring him things or look at things for him. He is very grumpy in the mornings, and strangely hates to talk to anyone except for me.

And like how he likes to be carried.

"What?"

"I said, 'Carry me'.", Holmes said, his arms extended for me to pick him up.

I sighed. "And why, exactly, should I do that?"

"Because I just sat down and its tea time and I'd really rather not get up, but I am feeling quite famished so I want you to carry me." He waved his extended arms a bit to emphasize this and gave me a blinding smile.

I frowned, unconvinced. "To the dining room table?"

He nodded, smile still present.

"All the way downstairs and two rooms over?"

He nodded again.

"No."

He dropped his arms with a huff, frowning and crossing them instead. He looked outside and I instantly knew-he was thinking. Not. Good. I turned tail and was about to leave the room, before he could come up with some type of incident to black mail me with if I didn't do as he asked, but was stopped by the sound of a sniffle.

I turned around and immediately regretted it.

Holmes was using those blasted puppy dog eyes again.

His brown eyes were as big and shiny as dinner plates and his bottom lip was jutting out, his arm held out again; over all reminding me of a child or a sick puppy.  
>It was adorable, and completely unfair.<p>

I sighed again. "Fine. But only if you take a bath. Heavens knows you need one."

"Only if you're the one giving it.", he teased, causing me to turn bright red but smirk inwardly.

Holmes smiled, teeth showing this time, and wrapped his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist. I hesitantly placed both hands on his thighs to keep him from falling off and straightened back up.

I hummed, surprised at how light he was. For some reason, I suspected him to be heavier.

Holmes idly played with strands of my hair, humming some inane toon he must've heard recently, as I swiftly turned around and marched us downstairs. Unlike common speculation would summarize, Holmes has a terrible time keeping things in his memory for more then a year or so, unless it is believed to be of the top importance.

I smirked at this, enjoying having such personal knowledge on my partner, lover, and friend, but froze when I felt Holmes breathe on my neck.

"Holmes..."

Holmes leaned away and smiled at me, hands raised but my bow tie in one of them. I growled playfully and let go of him with one hand to snatch it back.

"Bad boy."

Holmes pretended to look dejected, then went back to playing with my hair, his chin on my shoulder. "Sorry, sorry! So, what do you want with your tea?"

"Anything, as long as you're not baking it."

Among the many things (and people) that Holmes has bested and mastered, cooking is not one of them. Though, if he tries, he can make one mean cherry pie.

Holmes smacked me lightly on the head, but his chuckle betrayed his gruffness.

"Oh hush, you- Where're we going?"

I sighed. I have yet to get away with anything under Holmes's watchful eyes. Except that one time I was able to hide Gladstone for a week in Holmes's neglected and forgotten wardrobe. Though, I suspect if he had actually been conscious at the time (Gladstone, that is, not Holmes), it wouldn't have gone on so long.

"Now now, I'm just filling out your side of our agreement,_ dear_.", I replied smartly, copying his regular endearment.

He leaned away again, this time giving me a skeptical and slightly-dare I say-fearful look.

"Y-you do know I was kidding about that, don't you, dear?"

I leaned up and rubbed our noses together. "Not at all."

He froze and went deathly pale for a second before leaning over my shoulder, kicking and hitting in an attempt to escape me. "NANNY!"

I chuckled darkly.

Oh, I was going to get one hell of a chewing out after this is all over, but for now, I'll just enjoy the two most unknown facts of Sherlock Holmes:

That he is extremely ticklish and that he loves me back.

* * *

><p>Just a little something to commemorate the life and end (?) of Sherlock Holmes. Hope they make a new movie, I just love Robert Downey Jr.~! Oh, and I really do hope that Moriarty and Miss Irene Adler are not gone forever, I quite liked them T^T<p> 


	2. Shelfish Trickery

Another of the rare, unshared secrets of Sherlock Holmes (well, maybe not so unknown…) is that, while he refuses to wear his own clothes or eat his own food, he refuses to share anything of his (and sometimes, even of mine).

"Watson, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"That…thing in your hand?"

I sent my friend a questioning glance but decided to indulge him this once. "It's a newspaper, Hol-"

"Wrong."

Now I was truly lost. "What?"

"Don't play dumb, Watson. You know just as well as I do what I said."

"It's not a newspaper?"

"Nope. You're warm, though."

I beamed at him from his position on my lap, munching on my untouched breakfast (I've learned it's pointless anyway, as by the time I get up, he will have already gotten dressed, or as dressed as he ever is, taken a walk, experimented on Gladstone twice, and eaten my breakfast. My best guess as to why is that Miss Hudson has stopped making him breakfast anymore. Per his instruction, of course.), at the rare compliment. "Thank you!"

He smirked. "Not like that. But yes, you are very cozy."

To emphasize this, he snuggled deeper into my lap. Like a kitten. I swear the man is an enigma to even himself most days.

"Okay then...Um...Oh gosh Holmes, it's too early for your puzzles, just tell me what you mean and get on with it. Please!"

Holmes sighed and sat up, his hair sticking up in the back. He crossed his arms and glared straight ahead.

"Fine, John, I'll tell you what it is."

Crap. He only calls me John when he's mad at me. And a mad Sherlcok means a very cold and uncomfortable night on the couch for me.

"It's a newspaper, yes, but it's not just a newspaper. It's my newspaper."

My jaw must have dropped because Sherlock smiled a little. He always says I look silly when I do that.

"So?", I question, turning back to the-excuse me-Holmes's newspaper and snapping it a bit.

Holmes's stubborn glare turned into a slight pout and he stuck his hand out at me.  
>"I want it back."<p>

"What?" And suddenly a thought hit me. "No."

Holmes's head whipped in my direction so fast, I thought it might fall off. "What?"

"Don't play dumb, Holmes. You know just as well as I do what I said.", I said with a devilish smirk. I love using his words against him.

Holmes glared again, though this time directly at me, and made a grab for the newspaper, which I held over my head.

He tucked his legs underneath him and stood on his knees, putting a hand on my leg to get more leverage. His hand just barely brushed the edge of the paper before I abruptly stood up.

He fell over on the couch and glared at me briefly, then jumped up and over to me, where he clung to my waist coat and stood on his toes to try to reach his prize (Holmes is about a good head or two shorter than me, which annoys him just about as much as it pleases me.)

What he didn't know is that I had him right where I wanted him.

"Holmes."

Grunt. Jump. Failure. "What?", he snaps. Jump. Grab. Failure.

"You know you'll never reach this, don't you?"

Whine. Punch. Jump. Failure. "Not-never, no. Just-ugh-highly unlikely. Unless I can find your weak spot-"

"I have none."

Of course, that was a flat out lie. I had many, still do, but my biggest weakness was, is, and always will be him. Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock let his arms swing back down and I smiled brightly.

"So what you're saying is is that you'll never give it back?"

I tapped my chin with one hand, my other still in the air with the London Times clutched tightly in it, as if thinking it over. "Hmmm...not never, no. Just highly unlikely."

Holmes pouts again.

I smirk evilly down at my Sherlock. "Unless! You do me a favor."

Holmes gives me a cautious, untrusting look. "I'm not letting you give me another bath, if thats what you mean."

I burst out laughing at that, Sherlock eventually joining in. I smiled. He has such a beautiful laugh.

"No, no, that's for later."

I wink and Holmes turns red, his smile vanishing, replaced with an acidic glare.  
>"Kidding, kidding! But really, what I want...is...a...-"<p>

"Oh just get on with it, John!"

"-Kiss!"

To emphasize this, I grabbed Holmes by the wrist and pulled him into my arms, wrapping both around his waist. I pushed my lips to his and watched through narrowed eyes as his beautiful brown ones widened, then slowly closed as he responded to the surprise kiss. Our tongues intertwined and he threaded his calloused fingers through my hair with a moan.

When we came up for air, Holmes was against the wall, his legs around my waist, and my hand on his bum to hold him there.

"Wha-...how...what-what did-who-h-how did we get here?" I questioned, my mind still swimming through the sweet bliss that Holmes lips always managed to dredge up.

"Legs. Arms. Lips. Honestly John, keep up, will you?"

I barely had time to chuckle before he brought our lips together again.

It was only an hour later, in a completely different room than we'd started in that I realized that I was missing my-Holmes's newspaper, and that Holmes's pillow was strangely crinkly.

It was at that point that I began to wonder-who's tricking who?

* * *

><p>(AN): This is the most romantic thing I have ever written. It burned my hands a little to write,() but if people react the same they did with the other story (really, THE BEST comments ever, guys), then it was well worth it. Question: if anyone here has or is watching BBC's Sherlock, my mom and I are watching it currently, and she wants to know if its a love story between Sherly and Johnny-boy. Anyone know?

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